


Subject 3

by toomuchsky



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Implied Torture, prison setting sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchsky/pseuds/toomuchsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dystopian thing i came up with while i was watching nge</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subject 3

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings for basically prison settings and implied torture and some depictions of violence they're slight but i can't stress them enough

“Subject 3, prepare for Lab 2.”

 _Shit._ I hadn’t thought they would call for me so quickly – were Subjects 1 and 2 really _that_ injured that they had to call me in again so soon? How long had it even been?

At least it was Lab 2. That only required me to be shaven for the electrodes. It wasn’t Lab 3. Today would be a relatively easy day, if long.

I was in the middle of shaving my head from the minimal stubble that had grown since the last time I was in Lab 2 when the horn blared and my Cell door slid open with a bang. Outside, accompanying the two Guards normally stationed outside the door was a Transport Robot and another Guard.

The Guards slid cuffs shut over my hands and into the hook on the Transport Robot, which then snapped shut to ensure that I was tethered to it. The Robot started moving toward the lab; the Guard followed us the entire way there.

 

I saw Subject 2 being rolled back in a hospital bed from the Lab to her Room – Subjects 1 and 2 both had Rooms, the rest of us had Cells. She looked worse than I had thought – face pale and gaunt, injuries down the left side of her head, and bandages all along the right side of her body. That’s what you get for being the 2nd, I suppose. I didn’t want to imagine what Subject 1 looked like right now.

We made eye contact as our Robots moved past each other. She breathed evenly through her oxygen mask as her eyes regarded me coolly. I saw the same things I saw reflected back at me in the mirror every morning in them, and I stumbled as I walked. _We’re the same_ she tried to say _no we’re not_ I scoffed.

 

They shaved the rest of my head for me after making it very clear that from now onwards I was to obey protocol and begin getting ready as soon as I heard the call so as to not waste any of their precious time that they could be spending splitting me open down to the very core the center of my entire being taking that and churning it dissecting it caressing it only to squeeze every last drop of dignity and life and _worth_ out of it.

 

I was cuffed to the Transport Robot again as I stumbled my way back to my Cell. Subjects 1 and 2 got hospital beds. The rest of us got to stagger back so delirious with pain the robot was all but dragging us along.

 

There was a Show tonight, and then an Intake tomorrow morning. Subject 8 had died sometime today, so Subject 9 was now Subject 8 and Subject 10 was now Subject 9 and the new Subject 10 would be taking their first steps on the Facility tomorrow morning.

But first, there was a Show. The people had to see that their taxes were going toward something useful after all. There would be a Show, and there would be hell to pay if everything didn’t go exactly precisely specifically according to Plan.

Tonight, as for every Show, it would be the top 3 Subjects – 1, 2, along with me in the back. It was the only times we got to see each other except for the random chance meetings in the hallways to and from Lab or the Hospital Wing. I hadn’t actually seen Subject 1 since…well, for a while. Time doesn’t flow as smoothly here. It’s…chunky. Chunks of pain, chunks of nothing, chunks of…fear, pure absolute unadulterated fear. Chunky.

The Cell door blared and slid open again, to reveal ten Guards and Subjects 1 and 2. There were no cuffs this time, but we were met with five other Guards to make up for that. They surrounded us with a Guard in between each of us as we walked to the Stage where the Show would start soon. One of the Guards pinned my wrists behind me as we walked. Subjects 1 and 2 got to walk free – the rest of us didn’t even get the charade of freedom.

Obviously their injuries had completely healed at this point. They looked as beautiful and lovely as they did for every show; their hair had even grown back and it lay perfect and styled on their heads. It was almost like Magic but of course Magic was a Taboo Thing around here and therefore it couldn’t be Magic. Magic was for the weak and spineless for the liars and cheats of the world for the people who couldn’t be anything worthy and therefore had to resort to Tricks and Sorcery.

Magic was nothing.

But entertainment.

We walked onto the stage as we always did. They told us to smile to laugh to wave our hands and look at each other but not _at_ each other _through_ each other to make it seem like we were best friends because _of course you’re best friends how could you be anything else when you spend days and days practicing to tame your Magic together_ they told us to hold hands and make jokes even when we wanted to kill ourselves and everyone else in the room when we wanted nothing more than to vomit all over the stage and ourselves and drown in it when we simply wanted to curl up into as small of a space as we could make our bodies fit and quietly die.

And then we put on a show for the crowds of people that had paid to come watch us the freaks the tricksters the cheats perform with the Magic that they had turned us away for that they had persecuted us for that they had laughed at sneered at looked at with disgust looked at with fear. We put on a Magic show for them.

Subject 1 was fire. He was strong and passion and burning and _flames_ that licked around you and in you and whispered their wicked words and softened them with honey and more flames and you swallowed them you swallowed them and felt whole felt alive felt _real_.

Subject 2 was water. She was wild and tame and cool and _waves_ that could thrash all around you and lull you to sleep and she could worm her way into you like cool water like a hot spring she bubbled into you and softly slowly but all-encompassingly she poured herself into you and made herself you made you whole alive _real._

I was air. I stood and let my rage blow into gusts around me into tornadoes around me into raging maelstorms and eddies of cries for help of pleas for forgiveness of pain of nothing of absolutely nothing and stood crying in the applause at the end of the Show.

 

We were escorted by fifteen Guards on the way back, our Magic crackling around us like electricity. This time there were cuffs snapped shut behind us and held by a Guard. Subjects 1 and 2 had Magic Repressing Collars snapped on them as well, chains extending from each of them that another Guard held onto. I guess that’s what happens when you’re one of the Top Two.

 

The Director himself came to talk to me the next morning, as he did after every Show. He tore apart my performance as he did after every Show. He told me he would be signing me onto more Lab Sessions to make up for my revolting display as he did after every Show. He whispered his words into my ears and dropped them so succinctly and so painfully as if they were glass shards or barbed wire and cut me open and ripped me apart all without even sticking a needle in me or slicing into my flesh.

He tells me I’m worthless and I tell him I agree but it isn’t enough. I have to tell him how worthless I am and how far I am from ever being worth anything at all before he smiles and pats me on the head and stiches me back together before he finally leaves.

 

The new intake is like every other intake when they first arrive. Bright eyed and excited that they’re finally going to do something with their lives and make something of themselves. After all, we’re Humanity’s Last Hope. Who wouldn’t want to get selected?

 

Once a month we all eat dinner with the Director. This is one of the only ways I know to keep time around here. Each time we’re called to dinner with the Director, a month has gone by. Twelve dinners and that’s a year. I can’t remember how many years I’ve been here.

We’re seated in order of ranking, with Subject 1 sitting to the right of the Director and Subject 2 sitting on the left side of the Director and alternating to Subject 10, who sits the furthest from him.

We’re not allowed to look at each other or talk to each other. There’s a Guard in between each of us to enforce that rule.

Subjects 1 and 2 are both heavily bandaged and Subject 1 has an IV drip going into his arm as he stares at the food in front of him with two broken arms. Subject 2 has an oxygen mask again and is breathing heavily as she stares at the food in front of her.

Dinner with the Director is mandatory and there are no excuses for missing it.

The rest of the Subjects look fairly alright as they scarf down the best food they’ve had all month. I see bandages and broken appendages here and there but nothing as major as Subjects 1 and 2. Subject 8 has an eye missing, but I’m sure they’ll replace that by tomorrow. Subject 10 has finally been initiated into the sullen pale dead looks of the rest of us – his naivety and enthusiasm had gone by the end of his first Lab Session.

Then the Director opens his mouth and speaks. We put down our utensils and place our hands in our laps.

We’re prepared.

 “Guards. Cuff their hands behind their chairs.”

Subjects 1 and 2 look on as our – but not their – arms are wrenched back around the wide chairs and cuffed toward uncomfortably. They are never required to participate.

“Guards. Slam their faces into their food.”

They cup their hands behind our necks and shove our heads down until they slam against sharp steel and hot food and then bring them back up.

“Uncuff them.”

“Continue eating.”

None of us dare to wipe the food off of our faces as we continue scarfing down the best food we get all month.

Subject 10 is crying quietly. He’ll be punished for that tomorrow.

 

There’s a new Level 3 trying to destroy the city when they call me. Subjects 1 and 2 are both unconscious and cannot be woken up so the duty falls to me.

They dress me in my BattleSuit, a sleek black thing that provides me with the protection they don’t offer me here, cuff me, and take me to the plane.

I meet the Director on the plane. It’s not my first Battle but he acts as though it is. He spends the whole ride over whispering into my ear about how I must not embarrass him and all the things that will happen to me if I do.

I agree to everything he says. “Yes sir. I understand sir.”

They drop me in front of the Level 3 and I use my Magic to cushion my fall, drawing the air around me to float down to the ground right as it notices me and opens its mouth to roar.

I _shove_ my Magic into its mouth so it’s choking thrashing heaving and gasping in the way that they do and eventually breaks free to _screech_ and scream and I laugh I laugh and I laugh because _yes I hear you yes I understand_.

I want to roar as well I want to scream and thrash and screech just as it is doing I want to destroy everything I want to reduce the world and the Facility to _rubble_ to _ash_ to _absolutely nothing_. And I laugh because I _could_ I could do it I could force the Director to his _knees_ I could open everyone’s Doors and the Facility doors and let them free and break the heads of every Guard that tries to stop us we could destroy the world I could _save_ Subjects 1 and 2 break them out of their chains with a singly aimed gust of air I could make the Director scream and gasp and his eyes bug out as I watch him die and laugh and laugh while I did it but I can’t I have to sit and _yes sir I understand sir I could kill you in my sleep sir_.

Even the things we Battle have more freedoms than I do.

In the end I stand and let my Magic rage around me and I scream in a way I can’t anywhere else and my Magic hears me my Magic understands me it wraps me up in its cocoon and tries to tell me that things are alright _no no they aren’t they never will be_ it rips apart the Level 3 before my very eyes I can’t stop laughing I can’t stop crying I’m sobbing and I can’t stop I can’t stop giggling sobbing crying laughing I’m all of those things at once because _I’m doing as I’m told I’m destroying it_. Limbs go flying everywhere blood spatters all across my face warm fresh blood that used to pump through the body of another just like me warm fresh blood painting my sin across my body my Magic rips the Level 3 Magic User’s body apart and I stand there crying silently with my arms outstretched _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so so sorry_.

They find me sobbing hysterically huddled on the ground as they snap the Magic Repressing Collar on me this time with a thick unyielding rod instead of a chain and I _scream_ because _pain pain white hot pain_ as my Magic is blocked from my pores from my soul my very _being_ as they drag me up so that the Guard can punch me in the jaw to stop me from screaming.

 

The Director is on the plane when I’m dragged back on, wrists cuffed and shoved to my knees.

He tells me I’m worthless and I tell him I agree. I can’t stop crying. _I’ve killed one of my own._ He hits me and screams at me that I’m ruining his reputation and I nod along. I can’t stop crying. _What have I done?_ He tells me he’ll be signing me up for more Lab Sessions because I had to be taught a lesson and I tell him he’s right. I can’t stop crying. _I won’t stop hearing the screams in my head for weeks._ He finally gestures to the Guards to punch and kick me until I fall unconscious. I finally stop crying. _I’m just as much a monster as it turned into._

 

Using too much Magic too quickly results in physical manifestations of your Magic’s pain. If you disregard what your Magic is telling you to do, it comes back to hurt you in the process. This is what the Lab Technicians are there for – to help us find what our Magic is telling us to do, and then do the complete opposite. To test our limits and push past them. To rip apart our very core and being and make us go against the one thing that’s stood by us within in our entire lives the one thing that makes us _us._ To make us scream with the pain of our own Magic backfiring against us.

 

They cuff me to the chair as usual. I’m shaking even though I’ve done this many many _too many_ times before. They pierce me with their needles and plunge the chemicals into my bloodstream and my arm twitches and strains against the pain though I know better than to scream just yet. Screaming makes it worse.

They’re trying to find a way to isolate the Magic from Me and take it out of me so that they can do it to Magic Users who have gone berserk out in the world. We are the guinea pigs.

This chemical, like all the other ones, doesn’t work.

I want to laugh and spit in their faces because I can’t stop screaming at this point _magic is me I am magic_ you can’t isolate something that’s ingrained into everything I am from me _why can’t you understand I am magic magic is me_.

 

We pass Subject 1 on the way back from Lab 3. He’s sitting propped up by the wall of the corridor, clutching his side and breathing heavily. The Guard I’m with stops the Transport Robot and shoves me down to my knees before walking over.

“Hey Paulina,” Subject 1 chuckles lightly, breathing hitched with pain.

“Subject 1. What are you doing out here without a Guard?”

I was surprised. The Guards never talked to me. I was under the impression that they weren’t allowed to speak to us.

“Oh you know. My weekly pathetic attempt at an escape.”

My back is now ramrod straight. _Escape?_ Is he talking about _escape_? I can feel his eyes on me though mine stay obediently fixed on my Transport Robot.

“Subject 1.” The Guard’s voice sounds exasperated, not annoyed or alarmed.

“I know, I know, Paul. It’s just…hard.”

The Guard reaches out and squeezes Subject 1’s shoulder but doesn’t say anything. “You know I have to call this in.”

He laughs. “I know. I wasn’t expecting to get anywhere anyway. They’re all so used to this by now; they probably won’t even bother mentioning it to the Director.”

I flinched involuntarily. I couldn’t imagine the Director finding out about an escape attempt.

I guess you got more special privileges as Subject 1 than I’d realized.

The Guard calls it in through his intercom and two Guards rush in almost immediately. “Subject 1!” They, again, sound more exasperated and worried than stern and punishing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, I’m coming.” He bats away the hands trying to help him up and braces himself against the wall as he painfully gets up. “See ya, Paul,” he says as he clutches his side once more and makes to follow the Guards.

My Guard comes back to me and pulls me up roughly by my upper arm while hissing, “You tell anyone about this and I’ll make your life a living hell.”

I have to stifle a laugh at that. _Don’t you know? It already is._

She turns the Transport Robot back on and looks straight ahead as we walk back to my Cell.

 

My Cell doors blare and slide open without warning one day and I scramble to stand with my head down and my hands behind my back in the middle of the Cell as we’re told to do.

The Director walks in. He’s antsy, coiled and ready to strike.

My breath hitched. The last time he was like this –

“My…” He takes a deep breath, makes a face, and plunges ahead. “My wife wants me to tell you happy birthday.”

I bow my head even more, tears clouding my vision without my permission. “How – How is she, sir?”

“You are not to speak, Subject 3.”

“Yes sir.”

He wanders around my Cell a little longer, picking up things and then putting them down in disgust, before speaking again. “She is throwing a party for you and she insists that you come. She won’t hear otherwise.”

My fists clenched behind my back.

“It’s at the end of this week. If I don’t bring you to it, she’ll leave me and take my kids with her.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers and sighs heavily. “She doesn’t care what the media will say. She doesn’t seem to understand the position she’s put me in.”

He walks over to my front and grabs the back of my neck and pulls me up so I would have been staring into his eyes if I hadn’t made sure to keep my eyesight on his shoes. “Do you hear me Subject 3? This means that you’re going, and that you’ll be on your _very best_ behavior. You will make an _appearance_. You will speak to no one but my wife and my kids and _only_ if they speak to you first. And then you will be brought straight back. We’re going to make this look as good as it can possibly look.”

I nod slowly. “Yes sir.” My heart starts pounding and I can’t think of anything but _I’m going to see my mother I’m going to see my sister I’m going to see my brother._ No one else gets that luxury and I’ll feel bad about it later but right now I can’t feel anything but excited and apprehensive.

He shoves me back, brushes off his suit, and turns to walk out of the Cell.

“Sir?” I ask hesitantly.

He stops. “Yes?”

“H-how old am I now?”

He’s quiet for a moment before answering. “You’re 15 now, Subject 3.”

The Cell door blares and slams shut and I’m left saying “Thank you, Father” to a blank gray door.

 

The day of the party my Cell door blares open once again to reveal a Guard and a Transport Robot. They cuff me to it as usual but instead of being taken to the Labs I’m taken to the front door of the Facility.

They shove me into the car waiting for me as I try to soak in as much sun warmth green blue wind as possible in the short interlude between cement gray metal doors and aluminum car doors. The Director is in the car as well. The Guard makes to uncuff me and he snaps, “Don’t. I’ll do it myself when we get there.”

The Guard bows his head and slams the door shut.

He shakes out his newspaper and grunts. “Remember. One mistake today and you will wish you’d never been born more than _I_ wish you’d never been born.”

“Yes sir.”

“And –“ He pauses to snap at the driver when he makes a sudden stop and suddenly I’m seven years old again, listening to my father rant and rave about Magic Users and politics while buried under my mother’s dresses and feeling sorry for the poor driver who had gotten on my father’s bad side because I knew full well what that felt like. “ _Remember_ ,” he growls, done screaming at him. “I am the Director of the Magic Rehabilitation Facility and you are Subject 3 of that Facility. I don’t care what you are to my wife and children but you are _not_ that to me.”

“Yes sir. I understand sir.” He didn’t have to bother saying anything. I haven’t called him Father to his face in five years.

He’d trained me out of that very well in the first couple months of my stay at the Facility.

 

The first question he asked me when they brought me to the Facility as Subject 10 was “Would you kill yourself if I commanded you to?”

And I screamed and I thrashed and I screeched _why are you doing this Father of course I wouldn’t why Father answer me Father_

He asked me the same question every day. He would come into my Cell sit down at the table look at me while I was chained to my bed as the last five subjects always are and ask me “Would you kill yourself if I commanded you to?”

A month later when he asked me “Would you kill yourself if I commanded you to?” almost before he even finished the question I was tripping over myself in an effort to get out, “Yes sir. Was that the command sir?”

 

The night of the party was the first night I’d needed to be chained to my bed in four years. I couldn’t stop screaming.

 

There’s a Level 4 the next time they call me to Battle. I’ve never fought a Level 4 before. I wonder briefly why they didn’t call in Subject 1 or 2 instead when it seems more appropriate but I’m not allowed to wonder for long when the Director meets me on the plane as usual.

This time though he doesn’t say anything. He simply taps his fingers on the table and stares at me.

I nod anyway. “Yes sir.”

They drop me as close to the Level 4 as they can. It attacks before I can even coast to the ground with my Magic.

Pain rips through me but I’m used to pain so I fight through it I fight through the white hot blinding pain and raise my arms to shove my Magic toward it but it’s too strong it’s too fast its Magic is stronger than my Magic so it fights back it turns my attacks against myself and more pain more white hot blinding pain but I fight through that too and it’s not enough somehow I knew it wouldn’t be enough that I wouldn’t be enough and as I close my eyes I smile because I’m finally free of pain of white hot blinding pain there is no pain.

Subject 4 is now Subject 3.


End file.
